


First line/last line assignment

by Salicos



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Gen, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salicos/pseuds/Salicos
Summary: Mary has some old debts to repay. When she gets a call from a mysterious voice, she knows exactly who it is. She has no choice but to follow his instructions.





	First line/last line assignment

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is an original work. It's a one-off, I had some people ask me what happens next and the answer is I don't know, I didn't think I'd get this far.  
> For my creative writing class, we had an assignment where we were given the first and last lines of a story and we had to fill in the rest. This is the result!

Mary’s Apartment

Toronto

11:30 pm, March 21st

She was running the vacuum cleaner when the phone rang.

_ Who the hell is calling me at this time? _

Exasperated, Mary sighed and abandoned the broken glass on the floor, walking into the kitchen. She snatched her phone off the counter. Unknown caller. Probably a telemarketer. Whatever.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was distorted, almost unintelligible. 

“The time has come to repay your debt. You have nine hours. Resist and you will be eliminated.” 

_ Click. _

Mary stood listening to the droning of the dial tone for what felt like an eternity.

Then her phone buzzed. She nearly dropped it. A text, from a number she didn’t recognize, and yet she knew it all too well.

_Take care of him,_ the text read. _You can find the cyanide in a hollowed-out rock next to the dumpster behind your apartment complex. Make it look like an accident. Get the drugs he owes us and leave them at the dropoff point._

The name and address that followed blurred in Mary’s vision. She could feel her consciousness imploding inwards as if her eyes were a television screen and she was sitting inside her skull, watching the drama of a soap opera unfold.

Mary tried desperately to think of a way out of this. Any way out. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t afford to move away - that’s what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, she thought, remembering that she had been homeless before this, remembering the man who had approached her to take care of his problems - and she couldn’t just ignore the message. She had tried that last time. They had broken into her apartment while she slept and left a knife on the pillow next to her as a warning. The cops would be useless too - she couldn’t call them without incriminating herself, too.

No, she was pinned. She had to do this.

  
  


Pearson Airport, waiting

Toronto

1:12 am, March 22nd

Mary thought this would all be much better if she wasn’t wasting precious minutes waiting for her flight. Her nervous energy was clear to anyone who could see her. Sitting in the flickering fluorescent lighting of the terminal, Mary’s leg bounced and she couldn’t stop fidgeting with her hands. She knew she looked suspicious. She prayed to avoid a “random” screening. She was sure the TSA would be unimpressed with the cyanide in her pocket. The knowledge of what that tiny baggie was capable of was not lost on Mary - the small bag of poison felt heavy as lead.

Despite the late hour, the airport was bustling with activity. Lost in thought, Mary watched people come and go. She thought about how all of these people had their own lives that she would never know about. They were all going about normal activities. Businessmen, all sleek suitcases and phone calls, were getting ready for business trips. Parents, late for their flights, rushing between terminals with exhausted children in tow. They were much too wrapped up in their own lives to notice the thick aura of anxiety that surrounded Mary.

Mary sighed and stood up.  _ I need a drink. _

She marched herself over to the airport bar, plunked herself down, and ordered something fruity and overpriced.

  
  


The Runway at John F. Kennedy International Airport

New York City

4:00 am, March 22nd

Mary had a distinct feeling that she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. She had tried, but the flight was only an hour and a half long and the turbulence of a coming storm hadn’t done her any favours. She stared out the window at the runway. The darkness outside was hazy. City lights, the headlights of cars and windows of early risers - _and late sleepers,_ she thought - glowing like cutouts in a paper silhouette. Mary wondered which group her soon-to-be victim belonged to.

The cabin lights in the plane came on as they landed, harsh and bright compared to the dim lighting she’d been enjoying for the past ninety minutes. Mary squinted, her tired eyes not knowing what to make of the sudden stimulus. 

Mary fidgeted impatiently. It always took so long to disembark a plane, even when she had no luggage to speak of. Stiff-looking businessmen reached lazily into the overhead compartments, blocking her escape. 

_ Come on,  _ she thought,  _ there’s no way these people’s business is more important than mine.  _ But nobody knew Mary’s business other than the grim voice on the phone and, of course, Mary herself. She leaned back in her seat with a sigh and resigned herself to another agonizing half-hour of waiting.

  
  


John F. Kennedy International Airport, finally off the plane

New York City

4:36 am, March 22nd

Mary gazed at the mostly-empty airport around her. A liminal space. Even in the city that never sleeps, the ebb and flow of daytime foot traffic was apparent. Mary found that no matter what airport she was in, busy or not, it always had the same atmosphere. 

As she made her way through customs, she thought about her dream interpretation dictionary. Mary had never really believed in that stuff - dream interpretation was just an odd source of amusement - yet she had turned to that book every morning for years. Airports symbolized life. Birth and death. It felt fitting, in a way, to be surrounded by that kind of symbolism at a time like this.

An hour later, Mary approached the airport’s exit. She had been so lost in thought that she barely noticed where she was. Seeing the doors now, she broke out of her reverie and bustled through them, ready to hail a cab.

  
  


A stranger’s apartment

New York City

6:00 am, March 22nd

An hour and a half to go.

Mary fiddled in her purse. She couldn’t just knock on the door and expect to be let in. Luckily, given the late  _ \- early? -  _ hour, it was likely that her victim would be asleep. All she had to do was poison the water on his nightstand, spill his medication to make it look like an overdose, find the drugs, and get the hell out of there. 

Finally finding a bobby pin, Mary kneeled to pick the lock. After considerable effort, the latch clicked and the door swung open. 

A man stood in his kitchen on the other side, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Evidently, he was wide awake, but Mary could see the sleepless bags under his eyes. He’d been awake all night, waiting for her. He knew why she was here. They stared at each other, his gray eyes wide with panic, white around the edges. He was lean and muscular, and his hand gripped the coffee cup he was holding with such intensity that his knuckles had started to turn white. 

Mary’s heart was beating in her throat. He looked so terrified. So… human.

And then, suddenly, he lunged.

_ Shit. _

Mary managed to make a strangled-sounding squawk of alarm before he was on her. Still dazed, he’d clearly not thought this through, and his grip was weak. Mary wriggled away from him, dashed into the kitchen and grabbed a knife.

Seeing the apparent dexterity of his opponent, the man made haste to his bedroom, to where he presumably stored a weapon.

_ Damn Americans,  _ Mary thought, and rushed to intercept him before he could bring a gun to her knife fight.

He was waiting behind the door. His hands were suddenly at Mary’s throat. She kicked and squirmed, but he was ready this time and his hold was solid. Mary was dimly aware of being moved across the room.

And then, a deafening smash of glass, and pain,  _ pain  _ in the back of her head.

Shattered pieces of mirror spilled out across the floor.

It dawned on Mary that poisoning this man wouldn’t save her now. There was no way out of this, except for-

Mary grimaced, took as deep a breath as she could through the man’s chokehold, and plunged the knife into his stomach.  _ So much for the cyanide, I guess. _

The grip on Mary’s neck loosened and the man stumbled backwards. At the last second, Mary yanked the knife out of him, making sure to keep it on her person. A stomach wound like this wouldn’t be fatal unless he bled out before help could get to him. If he didn’t, he would surely give a description of Mary to the police.

Mary stood there, catching her breath, rubbing the bloody spot on the back of her head while the man writhed in pain on the floor among the silver remnants of the mirror, tiny shards glowing in the growing light of dawn.

_ If there’s a Hell, I’m already going there when I die,  _ thought Mary grimly, taking a step forward.  _ What’s one more sin? _

  
  


An apartment with a body in it.

New York City

7:15 am, March 22nd

It was done.

Not the way Mary would’ve liked it, but done nonetheless.

She had fifteen minutes to drop off the drugs and make herself scarce. How long had she been standing here? It was likely only a matter of minutes before the cops showed up. Surely the neighbours had heard the scuffle.

But Mary was frozen. She stared at her reflection in the shattered glass of the broken mirror on the floor. Shards of bright silver against a deep red backdrop. Her pale face stared back at her. Mary tried to ignore the lifeless corpse laying next to her fragmented reflection.

_ What have I become? _

She looked down at her hands. They were clammy and shaking. They were sticky, covered in blood. Their outline seemed to wobble slightly. 

_ I can’t faint now. Don’t faint. Don’t faint. _

Mary clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms, and stumbled backward onto the couch. She was dizzy and black spots danced around the edges of her vision. Her heart still pounded, but the flood of adrenaline keeping her alert had long since worn off.

_ I don’t have time for this!! _

She was meant to bring the drugs to a hidden location and leave them there. An exchange without ever meeting the recipient. That’s how it always was. She only had fifteen minutes.

She screwed her eyes shut and put her head between her knees, trying to take deep breaths. It was at this point that Mary realized she’d been hyperventilating.

_ Shit! _

Finally she managed to breathe deeply, and Mary focused on clearing her mind.

Then, she had an idea.

Fishing in her pocket, she pulled out the unused baggie of cyanide. White powder. She looked at the large bag of cocaine that she had found under the man’s bed. White powder.

She grabbed the drugs, tucked them under her coat, and absconded down the hall. She’d have to do this fast if she was going to pull it off; she had less than fifteen minutes now before the dropoff point would be checked. 

Mary scrambled down the stairwell, only stopping for a brief few moments while she tipped the contents of the small bag of poison into the larger bag.

Maybe it wasn’t her smartest decision. They knew where she lived, after all. But the brief satisfaction of getting back at them for putting her through hell made her forget that.

Dead or alive, she had made it clear that she would never go back there again.


End file.
